


About Sweat and Statics

by Kalincka



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Enter Furiously Blushing Frederick Abberline, Jacob sits next to him in the atrium, M/M, Okay so you know that part when Freddy's in disguise at the Bank of England?, Sequence 6: A Bad Penny, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:41:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24774067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalincka/pseuds/Kalincka
Summary: “If you need me, I’ll be in the atrium–in disguise”, he winked.Had Freddy known, he’d have brought a balaclava.
Relationships: Frederick Abberline/Jacob Frye
Comments: 4
Kudos: 55





	About Sweat and Statics

**Author's Note:**

> This is just me and my headcanon about Jacob having absolutely no idea what personal space means, thus flirting even when he doesn't intend to do so, and Freddy trying not to melt on the spot

The thing is, Freddy is sweating. Not because he is overstressing the mission or afraid something may go terribly wrong and that the entire economy of England may be in shambles after this; not because he has partnered up with Jacob on this one, the most reckless of the Frye twins, and certainly not because he advised him on how to sneak into the Bank of England. No, not really.

Freddy is sweating because it's bloody hot in there. He left his dark, heavy coat back in a carriage – where some of his men are waiting for orders – but the churning seas of people going in and out of the place is stifling. He's sitting in the atrium, right next to the path leading to the Hall; should he ever need his help, Jacob knows where to find him, though he didn’t tell him what he’d look like. He is in shirtsleeves, with a bowler and some slacks, and even if he’s utterly confident about the credibility of his disguise, he has the feeling Jacob will have no problem to spot him. It’s as though the man has a special sight, because Abberline has never been recognized under cover. He’s good at his job, mind you.

He also figured he’d brought a newspaper along, because if he has to spend hours waiting for Jacob, he better have something to help him stay grounded. So there he is, in the atrium of the Bank of England, knowing an Assassin is entering the vault and that he is the one helping him break into one of the safest places in London.

Perhaps Jacob won’t come by, he thinks. Even though the man is as unpredictable as the tide, he can handle this one on his own. He’s seen him at work, bringing him criminals with a flourish and smile as if they were his gifts to him; he’s seen him swinging a kukri with a carelessness that could only be allowed by the most expert ease; one time Jacob even flew to his office in midday thanks to a flick of his wrist, and the boys at the station didn’t even notice the breakthrough. So maybe, _maybe_ Jacob will opt for discretion this time. Won’t need his help. Twopenny arrested and peace of mind as he slaps the cuffs on him.

So why does he stay then?

He has to.

For starters, he’s needed for the arrestation of the bloody governor of the Bank; and second, he can’t help but think that he has to be there since he’s the one who let Jacob know about all this – he told him about the Bank Manager, Mr. Osborne, the vault door watcher and, oh yes, the Guard Captain, three top class people who he hopes he won’t find dead in the gutter tomorrow, because he’s tired of covering the Frye twins’ prints everywhere they go. All in all, Frederick Abberline is here on duty, and even if he has to suffer the heat and the waiting, he will stay right until the end.

Also, anxiety.

He looks up from his newspaper. Apart from the few brokers chatting about interests and profits, nothing peculiar. He can hear a woman in the hall behind him calling for the last participants of her tour; something about visiting the Bank. Freddy nods to himself, keeping the info, then goes back to reading the same line he’s read a dozen of times already. He wonders if the Assassin already slipped inside.

Just as he was folding the newspaper in half to get a better look at his surroundings, Jacob steps in.

He didn’t let down his top hat, for a start, but he’s holding a cane of the latest Victorian fashion. If the kukri’s still there, it’s well hidden. Jacob enters the atrium without a care in the world, subtly wiping out his hand on his thigh, and Freddy straight away notices the red tinging his fingertips.

So Jacob already broke into the building.

Why do it twice?

Freddy flinches and curses himself for it when Jacob comes to sit on the armchair next to his own. Where has his own discretion gone now? He squints on his line, reads it for the thirteenth time.

“The only one who can command the guards in front of the door is the bank manager.” He hopes his voice didn’t quiver too much. What if he’s sweating too much?

“Got it.” Jacob immediately responds. His voice is low. Baritone even.

But he doesn’t move. Or, at least, Freddy doesn’t hear him stand up.

He raises an eyebrow and finally gives in. As he turns his head to the side to see why Jacob’s taking so long to get a move on, he realizes the man has thrown an arm behind the back of his chair. As if he had just taken a stroll and decided to get some rest on a bench, enjoying the beams of light spilling over his face. (It has to be said: it is quite sunny in London today. Too bad the atrium grew hotter by the second and didn’t let the breeze in.)

Jacob, he finds, is awfully relaxed. Freddy can’t help but fidgets with the edge of the paper in his hands.

“Have you… Finished?” he asks, his voice so low it is almost comical when compared to the careless attitude of his associate.

Jacob shrugs and looks up at the ceiling. The ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. Freddy suddenly realizes they have to talk face to face or their cover will be blown in no time. He inches closer, grips the newspaper tighter. He hopes he doesn’t stink too much. Should have left the tie in the carriage, too.

“No.”

Freddy blinks.

“What do you mean, _no?_ ”

Jacob’s smile widens. He leans closer to the side and then turns his head to face him. For the first time, Abberline can make out the freckles on his cheeks.

“Relax, Freddy. I know where Twopenny is now.”

“You found Gus Howard?”

“I did. Very talkative once you get to know him.”

“Please tell me he’s still alive and that I won’t find him dead in the streets tomorrow.”

Jacob has the audacity to pout and shoot him a scandalized look, hand on his chest, as he leans back a little. Abberline can no longer make out the freckles on his cheeks.

“ _Freddy_ ”, he says, stressing the first syllable just like Freddy knows he does when he wants to complain. “How could I? He’s asleep in a locked safe.”

“He’s _what?_ ”

Freddy chokes on the last word; his voice goes a little bit higher than he would have liked, but it’s quiet enough so that it doesn’t earn him suspicious looks from the people around. He clears his throat and regains his composure. Jacob rolls his eyes as if he was overreacting.

“Come on, the lad deserved it. I’ll tell you where he is once this is over.”

Then, realizing he slightly got away, he leans in again. This time Freddy feverishly looks at his newspaper. He’s hoping with all his might that nobody noticed how clumsy their chat looks like.

“So why come here? If you’ve already found your way into the Bank?” He mutters to his printed letters.

For God’s sake, he can _feel_ Jacob’s smile hovering inches away from his face.

“I wanted to see you.”

And it’s so _Jacob_ of an answer Freddy doesn’t know if he can truly get mad at him. In fact he lets out a sigh, a very annoyed and confused and flustered little sigh, and his grip on the newspaper loosens for a moment before he thinks of lifting it a bit higher, so to hide the dangerous blush creeping on his cheeks.

“The truth please”, he deadpans, and he honest to God can’t takes his eyes off the line that he now reads for the twentieth time. Something about a lost dog. Or a cat. But it’s definitely about a pet. He’s sure.

“But it _is_ the truth.” An annoyed puff washes over his neck. Freddy tries not to think about it too much. “I did come here to see you. And besides, I have to walk through the front door if I truly want to get in.”

“Do you now?”

Jacob nods. Freddy’s heart jumps in his mouth.

They're both sitting in their armchairs but Jacob is leaning so close to him he can feel both his breath and his eyes on him, his smile, and bloody hell he can even make out the arm that moved from Jacob’s backseat to his own. Jacob acts as if they’re sharing the newspaper and Freddy is pretty sure he’s completely illiterate now. He lost the line about the lost cat. Dog. Whatever.

Jacob lifts a finger, feigning to point at an article he found interesting, and it’s almost as if they’re hugging. Fantastic. If Freddy found the sweating uncomfortable before, it’s awfully overbearing now.

“The group in the hall?”

“Yes”, Freddy stammers. He’s _stammering._ He wants this to be over, now. “The woman on the other side… She’s calling for the last participants, I think. Would be useful to blend in the crowd.” _Would be useful to let me breathe again._

“Now that’s my chance.” Jacob agrees, and suddenly looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “Hey, Freddy, are you sweating?”

Bloody hell.

“No I’m not”, he says back, and creases the paper in between his fingers.

“You are.” There’s a funny twinkle in Jacob’s eyes and– _goddammit_ he’s looking him in the eye now. “It _is_ pretty hot in this atrium don’t you think?”

“Jacob.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t want to get rid of the tie.”

“I do not.”

“Oh, yes you do. You’re blushing.”

“I wish Evie was there instead of you.”

“Aw, now you’ve done it. You’ve broken my poor heart.”

Freddy looks away, and he’s terribly self-aware of the red soaking him up to his ears.

“Don’t touch my newspaper, you’ll leave bleeding fingerprints everywhere.”

_“Freddy!”_

Jacob tilts his head just enough so that he can be sure the sergeant sees his offended pout, and Freddy does see his offended pout, it just so happens that he’s focusing slightly too much on Jacob Frye’s lips, and nose, and eyes, and everything. He clenches his jaw on impulse – Jacob notices and rolls his eyes but he obviously, _obviously_ mistakes the whole thing.

“Alright, I get it. Are you mad I had to hurt some people on my way here? I’ve been cautious, you know. Nobody saw me.”

Freddy refuses to answer. Jacob takes it as a yes, but the truth is if Sergeant Abberline speaks one more time, his voice is going to come out as _choked_ , because of the knot that just tied itself in his throat at the sight of Jacob leaning against him. It has nothing to do with his tie this time, but come to think of it, he does want to get rid of the thing.

“I swear”, Jacob insists. Freddy gulps with extraordinary difficulty.

“Alright, well, then, you should be going now.” He huffs a little, pretending to be annoyed, and manages to glance ahead of his newspaper. How is it that nobody saw the way Jacob leans too close in his personal space? “Go and blend in the crowd.”

“Yes yes, I get it.” Jacob sighs. He almost feels bad. Almost. He would if he were able to breathe.

As Jacob gets up, a hot puff of air grazes his cheek. Freddy feels his skin sparkle; his breath hitches, his eyes widen, and it takes an insane amount of self-control not to dive in the paper ahead of him. The thrill of it all jolts him like he's just been thunderstruck. It's so scandalously public, he can’t help but curse Jacob for his lack of boundaries, his stupid nonchalance, the way he seems so effortless even when he’s on the brink of breaking into one of England’s most secured property, and the fact that he will remember this intimacy for far too long after this.

Freddy calls out to him like it’s the most natural thing.

“Jacob?”

His voice is too quiet, a tad shaken. Yet Jacob stops dead in his tracks as if he could hear him even twenty feet away.

“Please… Be careful.”

And Freddy knows, Jacob knows, it’s not about his unorthodox methods – it’s about Jacob’s well being, it’s about Freddy’s concern of whether or not he’s going to get his throat sliced in an off-guard moment; it’s purely genuine, a little scared, completely useless.

Jacob _beams_.

“Cross my heart, Freddy.”

There is the warmest smile on his lips, a big and stupid and utterly unabashed smile even though he's about to break into the _Bank of England_ and then he’s off, twirling his cane with a swing that should _not_ be so carefree, leaving the sergeant behind in a padded armchair, his newspaper hovering inches away from his beet-red face, heart frantically pounding. He can hear the woman of the tour calling out to her visitors somewhere in the distance, except it's strangely muffled by the ringing in his chest. The thunder left him, but there remain smouldering embers of the initial shock, and they're glowing with the softest fondness he's come to know. The heat of the atrium is harsh, ruthless; nothing to do with what is currently engulfing him on the spot. It's unmatched. Freddy is pretty sure he won't get rid of it any time soon. Doesn't even know if he wants too. He thinks of Jacob filling the air, his lungs, his thoughts, the entire world. Everything is dizzy.

He is still sweating.

Damn it all.

Now Jacob could ask him to break into Buckingham Palace and he might consider the idea.

**Author's Note:**

> ahah Freddy just you wait


End file.
